


the pleasure principle

by yasaman



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/F, Multiple Orgasms, Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 04:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasaman/pseuds/yasaman
Summary: "When Eleanor makes the offer, she doesn’t expect Tahani to actually take her up on it. A woman like Tahani Al-Jamil is not going to stay at a tourist trap motel with Eleanor Shellstrop, Arizona trashbag."What happens when Tahani does, in fact, take Eleanor up on her offer to stay with her in her Sydney motel room.





	the pleasure principle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Welcoming_Disaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welcoming_Disaster/gifts).



> I had a ton of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy, Welcoming_Disaster!
> 
> Content note for spiders as brief plot device, I guess. No spoilers beyond 3x01.

When Eleanor makes the offer, she doesn’t expect Tahani to actually take her up on it. A woman like Tahani Al-Jamil is not going to stay at a tourist trap motel with Eleanor Shellstrop, Arizona trashbag, even if Eleanor is at least a super hot Arizona trashbag. If she were a good person, Eleanor would have made the offer out of pure altruism. She’s had enough lessons with Chidi to know that. Eleanor’s not a good person though. Not yet, anyway.

No, Eleanor tells Tahani she can crash in her motel room purely for the sake of seeing Tahani’s reaction. Sure, altruism’s great, but honestly, the bitter rush of vindication is better. Eleanor goddamn loves being right. And if she can be right while sort of trying to be good, all the better. Yeah, sure, Tahani’s one of the most ludicrously beautiful people Eleanor’s ever seen in real life, but that has _nothing_ to do with this offer.

Listen, this whole being a good person thing is a lot sometimes, okay? Eleanor makes her own fun when she can.

So when Tahani winds down her _how I came to the land down under_ story, Eleanor grins wide and says, “Well, welcome to Australia! Oh, if you need a place to crash while you get settled, my motel has a pullout sofa. Although, as I say that, and I look at you, and your whole thing, I realize that’s absurd, and you should probably get your own place.”

Eleanor smiles at Tahani, and Tahani smiles back, a warm and glowing kind of smile. Eleanor looks for the blankness or the strain in that smile, in the mask, and doesn’t see it.

Just when she feels surprise and unease and, yes, arousal, start to crawl up her spine, Tahani says, “Thank you so much! That’s so thoughtful of you. I could use a place to stay while I settle in, actually.”

“Oh? Um, you know what a motel is, right? Like, it’s so far from a hotel that they gave it a whole different, worse name? Motels get, at best, three out of five stars,” says Eleanor, because Tahani seems like the kind of person who’d think a four-star hotel is slumming it, and yup, there it is, the brief flicker of wide-eyed alarm.

Tahani covers it quickly though, and keeps smiling, blissful and unbothered.

“That’s quite alright, I assure you! I spent six months in a Buddhist monastery in Tibet, you know. Not many amenities there. I quite miss it, actually! I’m sure a—” Tahani pauses, as if about to pronounce a word in a foreign language. “ _Motel_ will be perfectly adequate.”

Eleanor’s pretty sure that _perfectly adequate_ is the five stars of motel ratings, and her motel absolutely doesn’t qualify. It’s not a total dump or anything: her room is pretty big, and it has a kitchenette and a little sitting area, though the bathroom is bizarrely cramped and harshly institutional, like it’s been transplanted from a dystopian movie about the evils of conformism and industrialization.

Still, it’s not the kind of place a rich as balls British socialite would be okay with staying in. But whatever. Tahani will probably take one look at the place and decide that no, actually, she’s pretty sure the Australian equivalent of the Ritz has a penthouse suite available and she’ll just stay there, thanks.

“Great!” says Chidi, and Eleanor startles. She’d forgotten about him. He’s giving her the wide and relieved grin of a person who’s about to relieve himself of some responsibility. “I’ll see you both here tomorrow then. Eleanor, how about you show Tahani around Sydney, and the university.”

She narrows her eyes at him, about to say _hey, you’re the one who actually lives here, dude_ , but that would be the reflexive trashbag Eleanor response.

So instead she says, “Sure! Come on, my motel is pretty close to the University.”

* * *

When they get to Eleanor’s motel, Tahani doesn’t immediately call the cab back when she sees the uninspiring strip mall surroundings, which means Tahani is either more polite than Eleanor had expected, or more stubborn. That’s fine. If the outside of the motel doesn’t do it, the inside definitely will. 

The motel’s decor is, inexplicably, 70s themed. Inexplicable, because nothing in the name or the branding or the website mentions it; the Sydney Palms Motor Inn is just touted as being a _budget-friendly option for tourists and travelers_ , conveniently located near many of Sydney’s finest attractions. And yet, stepping inside her room, it’s like a time warp: wallpaper in swirls of red and brown and burnt orange geometric patterns, paisley bed covers, dark wood furniture, carpeting that could optimistically be called chocolate brown, but was more realistically poop brown, mustard yellow upholstery on the chairs. Worst of all, all that decor isn’t the result of a motel that hasn’t been redecorated since the 70s, oh no. It’s all _new_.

Tahani takes it all in with wide, horrified eyes. In her pretty, floral dress, she looks like she’s been copy and pasted into the room from another, better world.

“Oh no, Eleanor, your room has been robbed! You must call the police, or security—”

“What are you talking about? My room hasn’t been—” Eleanor looks around the room, then she sees it. Piles of clothes strewn around, unmade bed, some half open drawers from when Eleanor had lost the TV remote and looked for it all over, some takeout containers on the table, and her bags, open and mostly empty. She’d forgotten to take the _do not disturb_ sign off her door, and the motel’s housekeeping hadn’t come by today. “Oh, I see, yeah no, this is just—the way I live! I’ll just, uh, get all the clothes off the pullout sofa, sorry—”

She gathers them all up and dumps them on top of her open suitcase. “You can put your stuff in the closet!” she says, and gestures towards the one-foot wide closet wedged in the corner between the bathroom door and the room’s rumbling AC unit.

Tahani eyes the closet and her two enormous suitcases dubiously. Yeah, Eleanor doesn’t think that’s gonna work out great either. The closet can probably only fit about two of Tahani’s full-skirted gowns, and it won’t fit even one of her suitcases. Eleanor keeps a smile on her face, and watches Tahani carefully. Now is when Tahani will make some excuse and leave, and Eleanor will get to bask in sweet, sweet vindication.

But Tahani’s jaw takes on a firm, stubborn set, as if tiny closets are just obstacles that can be ignored or overcome, and she says, “Thank you. Let me just go freshen up first.”

“Bathroom’s right in there.”

Tahani enters the bathroom with obvious caution and closes the door with a careful click. Eleanor waits. She’s not sure what Tahani’s reaction is going to be, but she’s sure there’s going to be one. It doesn’t take long.

“Good lord, is this a bathroom or a morgue!?” Tahani opens the bathroom door and pokes her head out, aghast.

“What?” Eleanor peers past her into the bathroom, half-expecting to see blood splatter all over the stark white walls. “Is there a body in there?” she asks, probably sounding more excited than is reasonable.

Tahani rolls her eyes. “No, there’s not a _body_ in here, really, Eleanor.”

“You’re the one who said morgue!”

The bathroom looks the same as it always does, with its almost fluorescent white walls and white porcelain. The only things that make the bathroom seem any less oppressively sterile and creepy are Eleanor’s assorted hygiene and beauty products scattered around the sink, and the damp towels piled in the corner, so she’s not going to apologize for the mess if that’s what Tahani’s angling for.

“The lighting in that bathroom makes me look like a corpse is all. It’s appalling.”

And yeah, okay, fair enough. The fluorescent lights are unforgiving and shadowless, and there’s probably not a skin tone in the world that would look good in that bathroom. Tahani fares better than Eleanor, but even her rich brown skin takes on a ghastly purple-bluish undertone in the bathroom’s harsh lighting.

“Yeah, I don’t know why they didn’t carry the 70s theme through to the bathrooms, even an avocado-green bathroom would have been better than that,” says Eleanor. Tahani shudders.

“Well, at least there’s running water. You know, the bathrooms in the monastery didn’t even have mirrors! So I’ll just—ignore the mirror in this one. It’s fine,” she says, and smiles again as she closes the door.

Huh. Okay. If the bathroom doesn’t do it, maybe the whole pullout couch bed thing will. Eleanor makes up the couch bed, and tests it out with a few bounces. It squeaks, but it doesn’t collapse or snap shut again, so Tahani should be safe enough in it. Comfortable, not especially, but safe? Sure. Now to see if Tahani will consent to sleep on a dodgy pullout mattress with sheets that don’t even have a thread count listed. The sheets, come to think of it, might even be a poly blend.

No way will Tahani rest her perfect, shiny-haired head on this bed. She’ll pull a Princess and the Pea and leave before dark, Eleanor predicts.

_And then you’ll just be alone again_.

There’s less satisfaction in that thought than Eleanor had expected.

* * *

After Tahani finishes freshening up, she manages to squeeze three voluminous, pastel-colored dresses into the closet, and puts assorted mysterious and intriguing lacy things into the dresser’s empty drawers before putting on an eye mask and declaring that she’s going to take a nap, “because the time change is just brutal, isn’t it?” She lies down on the pullout bed like some sort of beautiful, designer dress-wearing giraffe.

The pullout bed, it turns out, is about six inches too short for Tahani’s long legs, so she sprawls diagonally across it in a way that should look awkward and uncomfortable, but instead looks elegant and languorous. Eleanor, who has no artistic skills whatsoever, feels vaguely as if she should find a canvas or a fancy camera to capture the sight and immortalize it.

Which is ridiculous.

Anyway, who knows how many other artists have already done just that. Tahani seems like the kind of person who would say, in all seriousness, that she was such-and-such artist’s muse.

“How’s the bed?” asks Eleanor.

“Lovely, thank you.”

“Looks kind of small.”

“Oh, it’s fine, positively roomy, even! Better than a pallet on the floor, certainly.”

“I wouldn’t make you sleep on the floor, come on,” snaps Eleanor, stung. She’s not a _total_ asshole.

“Of course not, sorry. I did sleep on the floor in the monastery though. Or, close enough to the floor anyway.”

“No shit? How long did you say you stayed there again?”

“Six months. I think it was actually good for my back. Like a sort of hot stone massage, only the rocks weren’t hot and also I was lying on them instead of them being put on me.” Eleanor raises an eyebrow, because that’s nothing like a hot stone massage at all, and Tahani must guess at something of her dubious expression, because she tips her head and grimaces. “But this is fine too! Can you wake me in a couple of hours, please?”

“Sure,” says Eleanor, and stares at Tahani while trying to make it not obvious that she’s staring at Tahani. Tahani can’t see anyway, not with the eye mask, but Eleanor feels like she’ll just be able to _know_.

Maybe Eleanor has misjudged Tahani’s slumming-it capabilities. Or maybe Tahani _has_ achieved enlightenment. Nah. No one who’s achieved enlightenment has a self-help cruise named after them. Still, Tahani’s lasted longer than Eleanor thought she would. _Maybe you misjudged her, and maybe your good deed can just be a good deed_ , Eleanor thinks, in a mental voice that sounds an awful lot like Chidi. _Maybe you shouldn’t be trying to do any of this alone at all anyway_ , she thinks, and she’s not sure if she means this whole quest to become a good person or life in general, and that thought and that question are entirely her own. Which is dumb, because Eleanor of all people ought to know better.

It’s all well and good to think about _what we owe to each other_ but that doesn’t mean she has to go _relying_ on people or wanting them to stay.

Thinking of Chidi reminds her, _homework_.

She grabs one of the many philosophy books Chidi has told her to read, and sits on the bed to do her homework. She gets through a page before her eyes stray to Tahani again. Her black hair is hanging off the edge of the sofa bed in one long, shining wave worthy of a Pantene commercial. She hasn’t bothered to change into anything more casual, and the full skirt of her floral dress is starting to ride up to reveal one smooth thigh. Eleanor has the sudden, visceral urge to mess Tahani up more: wrinkle the dress and make her hair wild and push one of the dress’s straps down to reveal—

_Philosophy_. Eleanor has got to concentrate on her philosophy homework.

* * *

Eleanor gets through half a chapter before it’s time to wake Tahani up. She wishes she could blame the book for her slow reading pace. Her eyes just kept straying to Tahani though, and then Eleanor had contemplated snooping around in Tahani’s things, maybe just taking a peek into the drawers to see what she’d put in there. The mental image of Chidi’s disappointed face stopped her though, and she’d stared at Tahani some more instead. That left her with nothing to do but try to actually read, and then, finally, the two hours were up and she could wake Tahani up.

Tahani, of course, looks perfect when she wakes up from her nap. Is it the eye mask? Is that all that’s keeping Eleanor from looking dewy and sweetly tousled after a nap, instead of like an angry, insomniac raccoon? Maybe she should steal Tahani’s eye mask some day and give it a shot.

Once Tahani “freshens up” again, which, seriously, she could just say she has to use the bathroom, why use a euphemism, Eleanor half-expects Tahani to say something about how _that was a lovely nap, so refreshing, but I’ll just be going to find the finest mansion available on Airbnb_ , _thanks_.

Instead, Tahani says, “I don’t know about you, Eleanor, but I’m famished. How about we order some room service? My treat, as thanks for inviting me here.”

“Room service? This is a motel. There’s no room service. There’s, like, a couple vending machines by the lobby that have weird Australian snacks in them, and some takeout menus by the phone.”

Tahani’s eyes go wide. “Oh! Of course. Of course...motels...have no room service,” she grits out with a forced smile, and a strained giggle. “Silly me, thinking that a motel should have _room service_.”

“Did the _monastery_ have room service?”

“The monastery had plain rice with vegetables, which I ate in quiet contemplation in my room.”

“Honestly, your monastery is sounding more and more like prison. Anyway, there’s a pizza place that delivers here that’s pretty good,” suggests Eleanor, only partly because she wants to see if Tahani is one of those people who eats pizza with a knife and fork. Eleanor’s willing to bet she is. “Or, I think I have some cup o’ noodles around here somewhere…”

Tahani fetches her phone and begins scrolling through it. “Maybe Chef Gilmore is available…or Curtis…” she murmurs, then she stops, bites her lip, and sets her phone back down. “No, you know what? Pizza sounds lovely. Shall I order it for us? We can get one pizza with…the things that go on pizza, and perhaps a salad…”

That all sounds suspiciously vague. Eleanor narrows her eyes at Tahani.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had pizza!”

“Of course I’ve had pizza!” Tahani snaps. “Why, one time, I was in Naples with my dear friend Giada, and she took me to what she assured me was the finest, oldest pizzeria in all of Italy, and we had some absolutely _perfect_ —”

“Yeah, no, Dingoes Ate My Pizza isn’t exactly the finest Naples-ish? Naples-ian?” Eleanor pauses, frowns. “Wait, no, I’ve got it, Naple-ite—”

“Neapolitan.”

“No, that’s an ice cream flavor. Whatever, delivery from Dingoes Ate My Pizza it is. What toppings do you want?”

“Giada put some rocket—I believe you Yanks call it arugula—on the pizza she made for me, and it was quite—”

“Dingoes Ate My Pizza is not an arugula-on-pizza kind of joint.”

Tahani frowns. “Perhaps a truffle pizza then? The flavor goes so perfectly with—”

“Nope,” says Eleanor and Tahani sighs.

“Pick whatever toppings you think are best, then.”

“Great! I’ll order,” says Eleanor, and picks up the room’s phone to order.

Whatever toppings she thinks are best? Pineapple and banana peppers it is. And if Tahani’s paying, Eleanor’s willing to get a little bit lavish too: she adds an order of extra spicy buffalo wings, mozzarella sticks, and breadsticks, and in deference to Tahani’s desire for arugula, a side salad.

“Get a bottle of red, too,” says Tahani. Eleanor glances over at her: she’s flopped onto the sofa bed in a pose that would probably be called a swoon if this were some period piece.

“Babe, I don’t think the pizza guy can deliver wine to us—” Eleanor says to Tahani, but then the guy taking her order clears his throat.

“Uh, _officially_ , no, we don’t deliver wine. But, y’know, the delivery guy can pick a bottle up for you on the way? As a favor.”

“That is _excellent_ customer service,” Eleanor tells him sincerely.

“We at Dingoes Ate My Pizza strive to provide Sydney’s best pizza delivery service! So, bottle of red wine, you said? Any preference?”

“We will trust your driver’s instincts as a sommelier,” says Eleanor.

“…Right. Should get to you in 45 minutes.”

“Thanks!” she says into the phone, then hangs up, and turns to Tahani. “Pizza and wine, classy. I’m usually a pizza and beer kinda gal, but I’m up for trying new things.”

Eleanor has to suppress a wince after saying that; she sounded sleazy as hell. Tahani doesn’t seem to have noticed though, she’s still flopped on the sofa bed having some sort of crisis. Probably contemplating the rock bottom that is eating delivery pizza in a motel room instead of dining on fancy food cooked by a chef who has their own best-selling cookbook in a five-star hotel. Tahani takes a deep breath and the crisis seems to pass. She straightens her spine, and her skirts.

“Me too! Perhaps we can get dessert from the vending machine! Won’t that be an…adventure,” says Tahani with a game attempt at a cheerful smile.

Huh. Okay. Maybe Tahani’s going to make it through at least one night in this motel.

* * *

The motel’s vending machines are located in the lobby, which is, in Eleanor’s opinion, a pretty diabolical choice. As far as Eleanor’s concerned, no one’s ever proud of what they buy from a snack vending machine, and putting one in plain view of all motel guests and passersby is an exercise in food-shaming. Sure, everyone _thinks_ they’re just getting something from the vending machine to tide them over until they can get real food, and sure, everyone _thinks_ they’ll make the marginally virtuous choice of getting a Nutrigrain bar or whatever other granola or protein bar type thing is available. But then they spot the Snickers, or the Moon Pies, or the Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and they give in to their cravings every time. It’s pure human nature. The only thing preventing Eleanor from making just such a choice now is that the vending machine is about half full of strange Australian snacks whose packaging is shockingly unclear as to their contents.

“Is that a jar of _Vegemite_ in there?” asks Tahani as she squints up at the dim upper right corner of the vending machine.

“Stick with the Tim Tams,” recommends Eleanor, already feeding bills into the machine and punching in the numbers for every flavor of Tim Tam the vending machine has.

The machine takes its sweet time in releasing each precious packet, and Tahani watches in fascination as the coil of wire holding the food in place turns with sloth-like slowness until it releases the snack.

“How tremendously inefficient,” she marvels. “Get me three Polly Waffles, two Curly Wurlys, a Violet Crumble, and a Chomp.”

Eleanor blinks up at her. “Woah there, Willy Wonka, what kind of sugar high are you planning on? Also, I can’t believe those are all real candy bar names.”

“I just realized: I haven’t had chocolate since my near death experience. Isn’t that ridiculous? I think that’s ridiculous and must be rectified.”

“Fair enough.”

* * *

The pizza and wine arrive on time, and the delivery guy solemnly informs them that, “I picked out a nice local Shiraz for you, and I think it’ll go real nice with your pizza! Uh, pineapple and banana peppers is a bold choice!”

“Okay buddy, that’s enough editorializing from you, just hand over the booze and the food.”

The delivery guy opens up his warming bag and the delicious scent of pizza and wings and fried cheese floats out. Eleanor grabs the boxes and sighs automatically: is the warmth of a box of fresh pizza better than the warmth of a hug from a real human person? Eleanor thinks _yes_. After a maybe too-long minute communing with the pizza and wings and mozzarella sticks, she sets all the food down on the room’s only table.

“Thank you so much,” says Tahani, and gives the pizza delivery guy a hefty tip that makes him beam.

Tahani must give off some kind of _I deserve the finest service at all times_ forcefield, and also an aura of dollar signs (pound signs? Euro signs? whatever), because the delivery guy also offers to uncork their wine. Eleanor suspects he wants to hang around to pour it and set out their food too, but she kicks him out before he can pledge himself to Tahani’s service.

Tahani hovers in the general vicinity of the food boxes. “It all smells marvelous,” she says.

“Dig in,” says Eleanor.

“But—” Tahani looks around. “Are there any plates, or cutlery—”

“No plates or cutlery needed for pizza and wings!”

“Or even chopsticks—” tries Tahani desperately.

“Nope!”

Eleanor opens the pizza box, grabs a slice, and takes a big, showy bite. Tahani sighs, then narrows her eyes as if steeling herself.

“Very well then. If this is the custom,” she says, and lifts up a floppy slice laden with pineapple and banana peppers, and takes a dainty bite.

* * *

An hour and a half later, they’re lying on Eleanor’s bed amid the wreckage of greasy food boxes and candy bar wrappers, the bottle of wine nearly empty on the floor. Maybe the pizza delivery guy _had_ missed his calling as a sommelier, because the wine really had gone well with the pizza.

“I know, objectively, that that was not the best meal I’ve ever eaten—I ate at _elBulli_ before it closed, you know, and Chef Adria named a dessert after me—and yet,” muses Tahani.

“Even bad food tastes good in motel rooms,” says Eleanor, then frowns. “Or maybe motel rooms make you lower your standards?”

“Thank you, Eleanor. That was—fun.” Tahani laughs, as if surprised. “That was actually _fun_.”

A warm feeling spreads in Eleanor’s chest, warmer even than the box of fresh pizza in her arms had been. Maybe it’s the wine talking. She’ll have to ask Chidi: does fun count as altruism? Can that be part of _what we owe to each other_?

“Yeah, it really was.”

* * *

The next morning, Eleanor realizes that she has thoroughly played herself.

“I can’t believe this _motel_ doesn’t have complimentary Turkish cotton bathrobes!” declares Tahani as she comes out of the bathroom, a cloud of sweet-smelling steam billowing behind her. She’s wearing nothing but a very short towel wrapped around her body, with another towel wrapped around her hair in a turban.

“Yeah, it’s a real…” Tahani hitches her towel up where it’s starting to fall from her chest. _Oh my god_. “…crime against humanity,” finishes Eleanor weakly.

Any vague, mean-spirited hopes Eleanor had about Tahani looking suddenly fifteen years older and haggard without makeup dissipate as quickly as the steam from the bathroom. Tahani’s skin is still perfect, her _everything_ is still perfect. Yeah, okay, she looks a little puffy-eyed and tired, and she definitely looks different without sharp eyeliner and mascara worthy of a Maybelline ad. But she still looks unfairly amazing. _This is morning after Tahani,_ Eleanor’s brain supplies, never mind that binging on so bad it’s good food and then passing out aren’t, strictly speaking, the usual sort of activities that merit the next morning being considered a _morning after_. It absolutely does not help that Tahani’s legs are really very long, and that towel does shockingly little to cover her, and there’s just so much glistening skin on display and the towel is barely staying up to cover her ass and her—Eleanor can admit—perfect boobs.

This whole thing was _supposed_ to lead to Eleanor feeling pleasantly smug and vindicated and superior when Tahani cracked and fled from the motel and Eleanor’s generous, totally altruistic hospitality. Eleanor was _supposed_ to find out that actually, Tahani’s not super hot and gorgeous and amazing after all, and is a total entitled monster. What Eleanor’s feeling now is definitely not altruism, or smug vindication.

It’s just straight up lust.

God, why is everyone she meets on this become a good person quest so _hot_?

She’s pretty sure it’s not ethical or good or whatever if she spends all her time in philosophy and ethics lessons thinking about ways to bang the members of her study group. As if it weren’t bad enough that Chidi’s surprisingly jacked for a philosophy professor, and that Simone has that huge smile and cute accent…no, _focus_.

_You’re here to become a better person, Shellstrop, not get laid_.

“Just let me dry my hair and get changed, and then the shower is all yours,” says Tahani with a breezy smile.

She collects some intriguingly lacy and shiny things from the dresser drawers, grabs a dress from the tiny closet, and disappears back into the bathroom.

Eleanor is going to _die_ of sexual frustration.

* * *

Eleanor figures Tahani will find a better place to stay the next day, maybe the day after that, and then Eleanor will be able to pat herself on the back for accomplishing a good deed and also for not climbing Tahani like a sexy tree. But Tahani doesn’t leave after a couple days.

“It’s proving a bit difficult to find a proper flat in Sydney,” she says on the second night, when they’re sitting on the bed watching some Australian crime drama. “Do you mind if I stay with you a little longer?”

“No, I don’t mind, why would I mind? Mi casa es su casa!”

She cannot believe those words just came out of her mouth.

“Grand! You know Eleanor, I feel so comfortable living with you. As if we’ve known each other for ages! Thank you so much for being so welcoming,” says Tahani, and reaches out to squeeze Eleanor’s hand.

Eleanor squeezes back, feeling both warmed and a little creeped out, because she feels the same way. She’s always thought it’s bullshit, a fakey platitude or a con, when people claim _I just feel like I know you already_! But there _is_ something familiar and comfortable about Tahani, and by all rights, there shouldn’t be. She feels the same way about Chidi and even Jason, an automatic pull and affection that she’s never felt in her life before, ever. Maybe it’s a near death experience bonding thing.

“I feel like I know you too,” says Eleanor, and tries not to think too hard about why, or how much more she’d like to know Tahani.

They’re all here for philosophy and science and becoming better people, not for hookups. Eleanor’s not going to ruin this by turning it into a reenactment of some especially trashy season of Real World or the Amazing Race or whatever.

When it all goes wrong a few days later, it’s not for any reason Eleanor would have expected.

It’s morning, and Eleanor’s still in bed, ostensibly killing time on her phone while waiting for Tahani to finish up in the bathroom, actually waiting for her daily glimpse of a freshly showered Tahani in a towel. Eleanor feels like a perv, but she lives in hope of that towel slipping. She’s mid-daydream about just that scenario when a bloodcurdling shriek comes out of the bathroom, making her jump and drop her phone.

“Tahani? You okay? Don’t tell me you fell and broke your hip in there, we’re both way too young and hot for that!”

Tahani bursts out of the bathroom, and closes the door behind her. She’s only barely covered with her towel, her head bare and her hair still so sodden it’s dripping.

“Spiders! Spiders crawling out of the—the—” she says, wide-eyed and breathless.

And okay, Eleanor’s trying to focus on the problem here, but there’s a whole heaving bosoms in a tiny towel situation happening with Tahani, and it’s _pretty_ distracting.

“What? Spiders crawling out of where?” Eleanor gets up from the bed and grabs one of her shoes. “Here, I’ll squash them, it’s no big deal—”

Tahani clutches at Eleanor’s shoulder before she can open the bathroom door.

“The shower drain! No, Eleanor, you mustn’t, they’re—they’re—enormous! And probably deadly, isn’t every insect on this wretched continent deadly—”

Eleanor gives Tahani what she hopes is a rakish, lady version of a Harrison Ford kind of grin.

“Aww, it’ll be fine. I’m from Arizona! We’ve got some real alarming insects of our own. Once, I found two scorpions in my shoe, and another time, there was this _giant_ black widow spider in my cupboard—” Tahani looks faint, so Eleanor decides she doesn’t need the details, and brandishes her shoe. “Anyway, I’ve got this, you just, uh, put some clothes on.”

“Be careful!” says Tahani.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” says Eleanor as she opens the bathroom door and peers into the shower stall.

At first, she thinks the dark blobs on the shower floor are giant tangles of Tahani’s long, dark hair; Tahani sheds an awful lot, and Eleanor’s always clearing clumps of her hair out of the shower drain cover. It looks like Tahani did it herself today though, because the shower drain cover is off and next to it is a clump of black hair, and—

Holy shit, there are like four way too big spiders skittering around the shower tiles, and another one is climbing up out of the drain. They have fangs. Their many, many legs are so long. Eleanor squeaks a little and starts backing away, slowly, hoping the spiders haven’t seen her.

Yeah, no, her shoe is not gonna cut it. Maybe if she rigs up a makeshift flamethrower with Tahani’s hairspray and a lighter…one of the spiders starts heading in her general direction, and nope, nope, nope, Tahani was right, they’re enormous and probably deadly and this is _not_ how Eleanor Shellstrop is gonna die, no sir.

She sneaks back out of the bathroom and slams the door shut.

“I think,” Eleanor says carefully, “that we should contact the spider-killing authorities.”

* * *

After a call to the motel’s front desk, Eleanor learns that there are not, in fact, any spider-killing authorities. 

“That seems like a serious oversight on a _death continent_ full of _enormous spiders_ ,” Eleanor hisses into the phone.

“Listen, how about you go out, get some breakfast, and we’ll get someone in to take a look while you’re out, yeah?”

Eleanor narrows her eyes. Front desk guy sounds like he’s patronizing her, all _aww, wimpy American, not used to seeing proper Australian spiders,_ and Eleanor is _not here for that_. She’s from a desert hellscape, okay? She knows her horrifying insects. She’s squashed _scorpions,_ and they _crunch_ when you whack them. Those spiders in the shower though…they’re on a whole other level.

“You better be able to get rid of these spiders,” Eleanor tells the front desk dick.

“Uh huh. We’ll handle it! Just swing by the front desk when you get back. G’day mate!”

Ugh. He’s definitely fucking with her. She hangs up.

“So, they’ll have someone come take care of it, I guess. They said we should leave the room for a couple hours. We could go get breakfast?”

Tahani’s wearing actual clothes now, one of her seemingly endless supply of floral print dresses, this one a goldenrod yellow maxi dress that’s a little bit more casual than her usual style. She’s looking fairly bedraggled, but of course, bedraggled for Tahani just means she looks kind of becomingly tousled, like she’s just come from frolicking in the waves at the beach. Eleanor, meanwhile, is still in her sweats, with bedhead and a mouth that tastes like something smelly died in it and got even smellier, since she didn’t get to brush her teeth.

“Yes. Breakfast sounds like just the thing. Some tea will help settle my nerves.” Tahani casts a wary look at the bathroom door, as if the spiders will break it down and escape, and takes Eleanor’s arm. “Let’s go, before more spiders appear.”

* * *

At breakfast, Tahani barely touches her yogurt parfait. Instead she sips at her tea and directs a thousand-yard stare into the distance.

“They were in the drain…right under my feet…skittering about in the _dark_ —”

Eleanor shudders. “Don’t make me slap some sense into you. Come on Tahani, it’s no big deal! You’ve had way nearer near death experiences!”

“Being crushed by statuary would have been a quick death at least. Poisoned by a venomous spider though—!”

“There there,” says Eleanor, and reaches over to pat Tahani’s now trembling hand. “You can tell Simone all about it. Finish your tea.”

* * *

They go back to the motel after breakfast, and go to the front desk first to make sure the room has been cleared of spiders.

“So—” Eleanor squints at the guy manning the front desk’s name tag. “Timmy. Are they done with our room yet? Spiders all killed? Because I could really use a shower, one free of horrifying Australian wildlife.”

“I’m so sorry about the Sydney funnel-web spider infestation, ladies! You know how it is though, monsoon season comes round, and they just fall right out of the bloody sky!”

“I’m sorry, what? That’s—that’s—just a—fun saying, right, not a literal thing that happens? Oh my god, it’s a literal thing that happens, isn’t it,” Eleanor lunges across the reception desk to grab hold of Timmy’s palm tree print tie and give him a friendly but urgent shake. “You need to clarify that statement immediately, Timmy.”

Timmy’s easygoing smile goes stiff and frozen, and he yanks his tie out of Eleanor’s hand, then turns towards the wall to fetch a new set of key cards.

“Oh, I’m only joking, silly. Sydney funnel-web spiders don’t _fly_. It’s these tiny little fellas called sheet-web weavers, y’see, they—”

Timmy types something on his computer then makes as if to turn his monitor around. Both Eleanor and Tahani recoil and cover their eyes before they can see any fresh spider horrors on Timmy’s screen. This, Eleanor thinks grimly, is karma for that time she put a dead scorpion in her mom’s purse, isn’t it.

“The spiders here can _fly_?” Tahani whispers, horrified.

Timmy laughs, like that’s a crazy idea and like he hasn’t _just said spiders fall from the sky_.

“No, don’t be ridiculous! They haven’t got wings, now have they? No, they make little balloons out of their webs and get blown about, is all. They’re totally harmless! Now, the funnel-web spider—that one’s not so harmless. We’re going to have to get someone in about them, make sure that whole wing is cleared. They get flooded out of their burrows, poor little buggers, and head somewhere else cool and damp, like the pipes in the bathroom.”

“How _not harmless_ are they?” asks Eleanor. She’s already mentally drafting the terrible Yelp and TripAdvisor reviews she’s going to leave. Timmy’s gonna get a personal callout, that’s for sure.

Timmy turns back to hand Eleanor a heart-shaped cardboard sleeve holding a couple keycards. “Here, these are for the honeymoon suite. You can stay there, no extra charge, until all this is sorted out, yeah?”

Eleanor leans over across the front desk to grab Timmy’s avocado-colored shirt and impress upon him the seriousness of her question.

“How _not harmless are they, Timmy_?”

“They’re a little bit…deadly, maybe,” says Timmy before extracting his shirt from Eleanor’s grip.

Tahani lets out a soft shriek. “Did we just narrowly escape death?” she demands.

“They probably wouldn’t have bitten you! But, you know, just to be safe: stay in the honeymoon suite. It’s all the way on the other side of the building, and housekeeping just cleaned it. It’ll be deadly spider free.”

Eleanor notes that Timmy hasn’t guaranteed that it’ll be _spider free_ , just free of _deadly spiders_. Australia is the _worst_.

“Your continent is hellish,” Tahani tells Timmy.

Eleanor decides neither of them need to know any more about Australia’s hell spiders.

“I didn’t know motels even had honeymoon suites. Is this an actual honeymoon suite, or are you just trying to make it sound impressive?”

“It’s an actual honeymoon suite, you’ll see. The Sydney Palms Motor Inn caters to all sorts of travelers, ma’am! And uh, listen—if you could just…not mention anything about the funnel-web spiders to anyone? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Oh yeah? How much would you appreciate it?” asks Eleanor.

If they’ve just escaped certain death-by-spider, she wants to get more out of it than a probably horrifyingly decorated honeymoon suite. And hey, her Yelp and TripAdvisor silence can most definitely be bought.

“Bottle of champagne a day?”

“I need _whiskey_ ,” hisses Tahani, looking haunted. “They were—so large—! We could have _died_ —”

Eleanor pats her on the back in what she hopes is a soothing way. “Bottle of champagne a day and the key to the snack vending machine,” she bargains.

“I can’t give you the key! You’ll empty the whole damn thing!”

Eleanor smiles at him and he flinches. “Aww, Timmy, we would never! We’d leave the Vegemite. But fine. Bottle of champagne a day and all the Tim Tams you’ve got.”

“Deal,” says Timmy, and they shake on it. “Enjoy the honeymoon suite! It has a jacuzzi tub! I’ll have housekeeping bring you your things, alright?”

* * *

The honeymoon suite is…a lot.

“This is not a honeymoon suite. This is a _boudoir_ ,” says Tahani. Eleanor can’t tell if she’s scandalized or excited.

Boudoir sounds about right though. That or whatever you’d call a cross between the nightmare room in a David Lynch movie and a box of Valentine’s Day chocolate. The whole room practically throbs with red and pink, and there’s a vaguely floral smell lingering in the air. It’s bigger than Eleanor’s room at least, with a sunken living room type area that’s dominated by an enormous couch that appears to be upholstered in red velvet.

A couple of steps above the living room pit is the bed, raised up on a slight platform so that it’s the undeniable centerpiece of the room. It’s enormous, swathed in dark red and pink, covered in heart-shaped pillows. Eleanor _thinks_ the bow-chicka-wow-wow soundtrack that pops into her head upon first sight of the thing is just in her head, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t. Because there’s also a fireplace, and the fireplace has a black shag carpet in front of it, and it’s all just very porny. Like the room is haunted by the ghosts of porn stars and STDs and hasty annulments. Eleanor looks up with an anticipatory grimace, almost sure she’s going to see mirrors on the ceiling, but at least they’re spared that.

“Is this supposed to be _romantic_?” asks Eleanor.

She’s not exactly a romantic kind of person, so maybe she’s not the best judge. Maybe this is the kind of room people want to bang in after they get married. _Sounds fake, but okay_ , she thinks as she eyes the enormous stuffed koala that’s hidden among the bed’s heart-shaped pillows. The koala is holding another heart-shaped pillow with the words _JUST MARRIED!_ stitched on it.

“Nothing about this is romantic,” says Tahani as she approaches the bed warily. She pokes it, then takes a careful seat on it, giving it a couple test bounces. Eleanor tries, and fails, not to stare at Tahani’s breasts. “Well, at least the bed is comfortable.”

The bed. The single, if enormous, bed. Eleanor looks around the rest of the room: there’s the couch—more of a loveseat really—and an armchair, a small round table, a desk and chair—but no sofa bed. Of course not. It’s the honeymoon suite.

“We’ll have to share the bed, I guess.”

“Do you mind? It’s enormous, and you are quite small. Plenty of room for both of us.”

Just for that, Eleanor’s gonna do her best to hog the bed. “Sure,” she says, and heads for the bathroom, wondering what horrors the jacuzzi tub will have in store.

She’s a little disappointed to find that the bathroom is utterly normal. Pretty big, but normal, with the promised jacuzzi tub taking up most of one side, and a lot of the same stark, sparkling white tile that was in their old room’s bathroom. There’s a double sink, a small basket of toiletries Eleanor makes a note to steal, and hilariously/horrifyingly, a packet of condoms and lube. The condom size is, improbably in Eleanor’s experience of actual penises, XXL.

“Optimistic,” mutters Eleanor.

The lighting in this bathroom is thankfully better than the one in Eleanor’s old room, warm and yellow instead of glaringly fluorescent, presumably because no romance can survive under the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lighting. That’s a lesson Eleanor has learned during every single morning after and bathroom fuck she’s ever had. There are even some candles tucked away in the corner of the tub, and they’re probably the most legitimately romantic thing in the whole honeymoon suite.

Eleanor is definitely going to spend some quality time with this tub and a bottle of champagne. And maybe, if she’s feeling especially virtuous, with one of the philosophy books Chidi has assigned too.

Tahani pokes her head in behind Eleanor. “Is that the jacuzzi tub?” She wrinkles her nose at it. “Bit small, isn’t it?” she says.

Eleanor rolls her eyes.

“Spider free though. And not all of us are six foot tall goddesses, you know. Seems plenty big enough to me.”

* * *

Once Eleanor puts on some clothes she hasn’t slept in and Tahani fixes her hair, they head to the university to meet with Chidi and the others. Chidi gives them assorted stern, disappointed faces until they give him and Simone the whole horrifying tale of their motel room’s spider infestation.

“You guys definitely just had another near death experience,” says Simone. “Sydney funnel-web spiders? Whew. They’re one of the most venomous spiders in the world, did you know?”

Tahani plops down into one of the lab’s chairs, a distinctly swoony look about her. Eleanor fans her with the nearest stack of papers. Is that a thing you do for people who might faint? She thinks so. Maybe she should get Tahani some water too. Whatever.

“Is is really necessary for us to know that?” grits out Eleanor, cutting a meaningful glance at Tahani, who’s about three seconds from having the vapors.

Chidi’s wide eyed, but he gives them a nervous grin anyway. “Nah, it was fine, I’m sure. You’d have been fine! Unless they were waving their front legs?” says Chidi, his voice climbing higher with every word. “Were they waving their front legs?”

“When they first came out of the drain, yes,” says Tahani faintly, and Chidi’s grin falls away.

“Yeah, that was another near death experience.”

“How do you _live_ here?” demands Eleanor. “How does _anyone_ live here?!”

“I almost got eaten by a gator once,” offers Jason. “I was on I-295 on my boy Pillboi’s mo-ped—”

“Illegal,” notes Chidi.

“And there was a huge gator just chillin’ in the middle of the highway! But it was April Fools Day, so I thought, that gator must be a joke, or maybe the gator’s just joking, so I stopped my mo-ped to check but—” Jason’s face turns solemn and haunted. “It was a real gator, and he was _not_ joking. There aren’t any gators here, are there?”

“No, there are not! Just crocodiles. They are also not joking,” says Chidi.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Simone asks them. “You can’t stay in a room with a funnel-web spider infestation.”

“The motel kindly upgraded us to the honeymoon suite, thankfully,” says Tahani, apparently feeling restored after Jason’s significantly nearer to near death experience via wildlife.

Chidi and Simone’s eyebrows go up simultaneously. “And, uh, you’re staying there? Both of you?” asks Chidi.

“Of course. The decor is…somewhat overbearing, but Eleanor is good company and I haven’t yet found a flat to let, so…”

“It’s fine!” says Eleanor. “Great! And it’s, you know, easier to study philosophy…things together.”

Eleanor only barely suppresses a wince at this totally weak excuse. Yeah, she’s trying to be a good person and all, but damn, does that mean she has to revert to high school freshman levels of terrible cover stories for makeout sessions? Not that she’s making out with Tahani, obviously, but she sure as hell just made it sound like she was, or that she at least wants to.

Which she does, because _look_ at Tahani, but that doesn’t mean everyone has to _know_ about it.

Simone grins wide, and waggles her eyebrows at Eleanor, because she definitely knows. Eleanor narrows her eyes back in silent warning, and Simone just grins wider and says, “Okay! Fair enough. So, who wants to get in the MRI first?”

Jason’s hand shoots up.

“Did you bring anything with you today?” asks Eleanor suspiciously.

Something in Jason’s pocket wriggles. “No!” insists Jason.

“Uh huh, so is that a lizard in your pocket or is your penis in need of immediate medical attention?”

Jason huffs and coaxes a small dull green lizard out of his pants pocket. It skitters onto his hand and up his shoulder, where Simone scoops it up as Tahani and Chidi shriek and rush to the other side of the room; interestingly enough, they both shriek at the exact same pitch.

“I just wanna make _one_ cool animal radioactive! Is that so much to ask?”

Simone lets the lizard out into the hallway. At Eleanor’s _really?_ look, she shrugs. “What, he’ll find his way! And Jason, honey, I told you, MRIs work with magnets, not radiation…”

* * *

That night, Eleanor shares a bed with Tahani for about five minutes before she comes to an uncomfortable realization: she has literally never shared a bed with someone without fucking them first. Or, okay, there have been a few times when she’s ended up in the same bed as someone without fucking: crashing with friends after getting too drunk at house parties, crawling into her mom’s bed after a nightmare before being sent back to her own bed because “honey, you kick way too much and mommy needs her beauty sleep,” and on a few particularly booze-soaked occasions, just straight up falling asleep before any fucking even happens.

But platonic, premeditated sharing of a bed? Totally new.

It turns out, it is really hard to platonically share a bed with someone as beautiful as Tahani. The one saving grace is that Tahani’s not wearing particularly sexy pajamas or any sort of Victoria’s Secret style nighty, which is good, because Eleanor could not have dealt with being in close proximity to Tahani Al-Jamil looking like one of her “good friend” Gisele Bundchen’s fellow models/”angels”. Tahani looks sexy enough in the emerald green satin collared pajamas she’s wearing, despite how nearly all of her skin is covered except for her arms. Eleanor, meanwhile, is in an old oversized t-shirt she stole from an ex.

Which is fine! Eleanor tells herself. Because this is totally platonic, no sex at all sleeping together, so it doesn’t matter whether they look sexy or not. This is just like a sleepover between gal pals! Girls do that, right? Eleanor’s high school experience hadn’t involved that kind of thing, but TV taught Eleanor that girls have platonic sleepovers with friends, and that those sleepovers only have a normal amount of sexual subtext.

It should help that there’s like a foot of space between them on the giant bed, both of them clearly on different sides of the heart-shaped mattress, but Eleanor can still smell the delicate and expensive results of Tahani’s extensive nighttime routine, an assortment of floral and sweet scents that combine into something that smells like the fanciest cupcake shop in all the land. It’s making Eleanor’s mouth water, because Tahani smells delicious, and that makes Eleanor wonder if she’s a secret cannibal for thinking a person smells delicious, and then she’s thinking about other, sexier ways to taste Tahani and—

“Is this weird?” Eleanor blurts out into the dark.

“Hmmm?” mumbles Tahani vaguely.

“Is this weird for you? Sharing a bed? Because it’s feeling weird for me.”

“How so?” asks Tahani as she turns to face Eleanor. “Oh dear, am I stealing the covers, or do you need more room…”

Being face to face with Tahani, even in the dark, is not helping how weird this feels. In the faint, dim light leaking in through the windows’ curtains, her eyes are huge and luminous.

“No, no—never mind, I’m just—being dumb. Haven’t done this in a while, I guess.”

“Done what?”

“Shared a bed with someone. It’s fine, you’re fine, ignore me.”

“No, I understand,” Tahani says, sounding more awake now. “It’s been quite a while for me too. But it’s rather nice, I think.” Tahani snuggles down under the covers, and a confidential, secretive note enters her voice. “You know, when I was at boarding school, we used to share beds sometimes. Sometimes just because we fell asleep in a friend’s bed when we were up too late, but _sometimes_ …”

“Sometimes what?”

“Well, there wasn’t a boy’s boarding school conveniently nearby, you know. Eton was an entire county away! Terribly inconvenient for school dances and the like. Anyway, we, you know…tried some classical enrichment by emulating Sappho, shall we say,” says Tahani, voice dropping to a sexy whisper.

Eleanor’s way too sleepy to disentangle that amount of upper crust, overeducated euphemism. She squints into the dark and tries to parse it out, but no joy.

“Planned an outing to the _Greek islands_ , I mean. Specifically _Lesbos_ ,” Tahani clarifies, and okay, wow, Eleanor gets it now.

“Oh. _Oh_!” It feels like Eleanor’s entire body has just flushed bright pink.

“Yes, well, it was all good fun, fond boarding school memories and all that.”

“Right, right,” says Eleanor faintly, trying very hard not to imagine it. “Uh, was it just, like, a boarding school thing for you, or—”

_Real smooth, Shellstrop_. But oh my god, Eleanor has _got to know_.

“No, not really. I thought it was, for a long time. But you know, just when I’d figured myself out and was going to come out to my parents and everybody, _Kamilah_ came out as pansexual and had a torrid affair with Kristen Stewart that was all over the gossip rags for an entire _month_.”

Tahani’s expression has gone stormy and unhappy, the way Eleanor already knows it always does when she talks about Kamilah.

“I remember that! I figured it was a publicity stunt and ignored it.”

Tahani snorts, but Eleanor can just make out a faintly gratified expression on her face too. “Maybe, I don’t know. All I know is a few months after that it was the London Olympics, and I went around having very public dates with the entirety of the women’s football team and a few rhythmic gymnasts and everyone just thought I had a lot of _gal pals_. Ugh. My slutty phase, and no one even noticed!”

The thought of Tahani having a _slutty phase_ with a succession of hot athletes short circuits Eleanor’s brain. This is a whole new side of Tahani and Eleanor cannot deal with it, she just can’t. This is like finding out Chidi is secretly an exhibitionist, or that Jason’s the star of legitimately hot and tasteful porn. But she can’t make it weird, what if Tahani thinks Eleanor’s weirded out in a bad way by her sexuality reveal? She’s pretty sure that’s a no for when people come out to you. Maybe Eleanor’s not so great at doing the whole supportive thing, but she can at least treat this as not a big deal, because Eleanor’s horniness is no reason to make Tahani feel shitty about herself. Asshole guys have done that to Eleanor too many times to make her want to do it to anyone else.

“Uh, my slutty phase involved a lot of bad bar pick ups, so, uh, your slutty phase involving Olympic athletes is a classy upgrade from where I’m standing.”

Tahani laughs self-consciously. “Gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go on about myself. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable, Eleanor.”

“No! No way, totally comfortable here. It’s just like having a sleepover! Girl talk, so fun!”

She catches the flash of Tahani’s pearly smile in the dark. “It is! I’m so glad you invited me to stay with you. This is so much nicer than being stuck in some huge hotel room on some enormous king-sized bed all alone.”

“Right. Yes, definitely.”

“I won’t keep you up any longer. Good night,” says Tahani sleepily, and then she seems to drop off to sleep immediately.

Eleanor has no idea how to deal with the idea of Tahani having a) had a slutty phase and b) having had said slutty phase with a bunch of fit, hot Olympic athletes, and most importantly, c) having had said slutty phase with hot athletic _women_.

This shouldn’t change anything, Eleanor thinks desperately. After all, she thinks Chidi’s hot as hell and she knows he’s straight, and that hasn’t made her sexual and romantic fantasies about him out of control or anything.

But she’s not _living_ with him. She’s not _sharing a bed_ with him.

She stares at Tahani in the dark, like she’s some kind of creepy sparkly vampire and Tahani is the dumb high schooler she’s in love with. Tahani sleeps like a goddamn Disney princess, of course, her hands folded up by her cheek, her full lips slightly parted. Eleanor feels like Grumpy Dwarf in comparison, but like if Grumpy Dwarf was uncomfortably sexually into Snow White.

Inviting Tahani to stay with her was a terrible mistake. Eleanor turns onto her back and stares up at the dark ceiling and contemplates all the bad choices that brought her here, and the terribly tempting bad choices that stretch in front of her.

She could make a move, she thinks. Now that she knows Tahani’s bi, there’s one excuse for repression and virtuous abstention gone out the window. Nothing wrong with two consenting parties having some sexy fun, after all.

But if Tahani rejects her, if she lets Eleanor down easy with some painfully polite and awkward _oh, thank you, but you’re not my type, Eleanor. I’m strictly a hot, rich athletes kind of bisexual._ She’d leave, probably, finally head off to some five-star hotel’s penthouse suite with better room service than Tim Tams and budget-priced champagne, and they’d end up acting all awkward and weird around each other at the university and basically everything would be ruined, and it wouldn’t be because of the motel, it’d be because of _Eleanor_.

Yeah, no. That’s not happening.

That wouldn’t be winning, Eleanor tells herself. And it would be unethical, probably, taking advantage of this whole sharing a bed situation that’s only happening thanks to deadly spiders, instead of thanks to any kind of feelings.

And okay, it would feel bad if Tahani turned her down, like being dumped. Like being _pre_ -dumped. Eleanor is _never_ dumped. Eleanor’s the _dumper._ Eleanor bails first, because she’s not ever going to be the sucker who sticks around for the inconvenient, awkward death throes of a relationship. Sometimes that means not getting into a relationship at all, and that’s _fine_.

It’s totally, completely fine. Definitely compatible with being a good person. She bets that if she asked Chidi right now, he’d agree with her.

Tahani shifts closer in her sleep, close enough that Eleanor can feel her warmth radiating across the small space separating them. Eleanor turns over, curls up small, and does her best to ignore it.

She’s going to be _virtuous_ dammit. She’s not gonna fuck this up.

* * *

Eleanor does manage to fall asleep eventually, and to her horror, her body’s betrayed her resolve to stay away from Tahani. She wakes up clinging to Tahani’s back like a koala clinging to a eucalyptus tree. A beautiful, delicious-smelling eucalyptus tree with soft skin. Maybe Koalanor will just stay in this amazing eucalyptus tree and live here forever…

The rustle of their daily delivery of Tim Tams being deposited at the door startles Eleanor back into wakefulness. She’s got a face full of Tahani’s hair, and one of her hands is clutching Tahani’s side, perilously close to Tahani’s boob. Eleanor carefully releases her grip and scoots backwards on the bed as quietly as she can. At least Tahani’s still asleep; she’s snoring just a little, in a cute and lady-like way of course.

When she tiptoes over to the door to carefully ease it open so she can fetch her blackmail Tim Tams, the promised daily bottle of champagne is waiting there too. For far longer than she’s comfortable admitting to herself, Eleanor considers making a breakfast out of Tim Tams and champagne this morning.

Will that help her sexual frustration? No. But, she considers, it could count as self care. And if she squeezes an orange from the lobby fruit bowl into the champagne, well, then it’s practically a mimosa, and mimosas are _basically_ smoothies!

God, now she sounds like her mom, and nope, that’s not happening. Eleanor sticks the champagne in the empty ice bucket. She’ll save it for when they have something to celebrate. Or at least until it’s after noon.

* * *

Eleanor and Tahani quickly fall into a routine over the next few days: they leave the motel together, they get breakfast, they go to the university, then they head back to the motel to have dinner and do their philosophy homework together before turning in for the night. It’s...surprisingly nice. Sure, Eleanor has to adjust some of the weird and gross habits she’d fallen into while living alone: no more leaving clothes wherever, and no more wandering around the room naked, just for starters.

But it’s nice to have someone to talk to at the end of the day. Someone to conspire with about getting Chidi and Simone together, someone to hash out hard philosophical concepts with, someone to share in her horrified fascination with Jason’s Florida Man stories. Someone who’s doing this crazy thing with her, someone other than Chidi who _gets_ it, who understands the weird, urgent desperation to be better, to get this being a person thing right. And, honestly, it’s also really nice to be around someone who’s fucked up at it just like Eleanor has. Tahani had, after all, only lasted a few months in the monastery before cracking and backsliding just like Eleanor had.

Of course, aside from shared near death experiences and ethical journeys, it’s also nice to have someone to watch terrible motel room TV and eat sorry-about-the-deadly-spiders Tim Tams with. Especially when it’s Tahani _I Namedrop Like It’s an Olympic Sport_ Al-Jamil.

At first, Tahani tries to pretend like she’s definitely going to keep reading her Intro to Dead Greek Philosophers book.

“Oh, you go ahead and watch the telly, I’ll just catch up on the reading Chidi gave us. I’m not much of a television watcher anyway.”

_What a shocker_ , thinks Eleanor, and channel surfs for a bit, skipping past sitcom reruns, boring British murder mysteries, and news programs before finally settling on a movie that’s the exact right kind of mediocre for motel room viewing. It’s that bad bachelorette party movie with Scarlett Johansson, and Eleanor’s ready to settle in for a good round of solo movie heckling.

Tahani looks up at the movie briefly, then returns to her book. “Not Scarlett’s best career choice,” she murmurs.

“Oh?” prompts Eleanor, and that’s enough to get Tahani going.

She turns a page in her book and says, “Hollywood B-list actors don’t really run in my circles much, of course.” _Ooohh burn_ , thinks Eleanor and suppresses a grin. “Though I did try acting after university, just briefly. I got sent a load of rubbish scripts constantly.” She looks up and narrows her eyes at the movie. “This was one of them, I think. It languished in development for a _reason_.”

“You turned it down?”

Tahani nods and turns another page of her book. “Hmm. I stuck to being Baz Luhrmann’s muse. He’s a genius, you know. Not at all reliable, I gather, and constitutionally incapable of sticking to a budget, but it was tremendous fun working on that untitled rock opera about Cleopatra, at least until the money ran out and the project folded.”

“Let me guess. You were Cleopatra.”

“Naturally. Anyway, Hollywood is more Kamilah’s scene now,” says Tahani, and sniffs haughtily. “She’s welcome to it.”

Yeah, as an only child, Eleanor’s extremely not qualified to address those visible-from-space sibling issues. So she shoves a Tim Tam in her mouth and returns her attention to the movie.

Eleanor would have been totally okay with the night continuing on just like that: Tahani reading and making the occasional comment, while Eleanor watches this dumb movie. But by the time the credits are rolling, Tahani has forgotten her book, and regaled Eleanor with stories of how boring it is to attend awards shows but how the Met Gala is absolutely worth it, no matter how silly the theme is. They make a conversational detour to rank the Hemsworth brothers in order from greatest to least, then Eleanor confesses her massive crush on Rihanna and how their love cannot be, which Tahani is comfortingly sympathetic about. Popping the cork on the day’s bottle of free champagne seems like a great idea by then, even if it is a weeknight, and by the time they get through most of the bottle, they’re both curled up together on the heart-shaped bed and Eleanor has changed the channel to one of those true crime documentaries with stilted reenactments.

“The husband always did it,” declares Eleanor.

“Now, now, sometimes it’s the boyfriend.”

“The husband _and_ the boyfriend did it. Cornspiracy!” Tahani bursts into a loud gale of laughter. “What? What is it?”

“ _Con_ spiracy, Eleanor. The word is _con_ spiracy,” says Tahani, enunciating perfectly, which is totally unfair.

“That’s what I _said_ , basically,” grumbles Eleanor, and then chugs that last sip of champagne and hiccups, which sets Tahani off into a whole new laughing fit.

By the third documentary, Eleanor’s about to fall asleep. Her body’s warm and loose from the actually, genuinely comfortable bed and the champagne, and maybe from the company too.

Shit, maybe she’s _happy_. That possibility wakes her up a little, injecting some soberness back into her bloodstream. She stirs, intending to get up and go to the bathroom to escape this weird, sudden onslaught of feeling, when Tahani interrupts the documentary’s latest ominous photo montage.

“It’s been nice, staying with you this past week,” blurts out Tahani. “It’s made me realize—I think I was lonely, before.”

Eleanor shifts on the bed to look at Tahani. Her face is lit cool purple and blue by the TV’s glow, the reflection making her eyes unreadable. She’s twisting the bedsheets with her fingers though, so Eleanor can guess how she’s feeling.

“Well, yeah, you were in a monastery. Aren’t they all about solitude?”

“No, it wasn’t the monastery. I was alright with solitude. That was like, I don’t know, a cleanse for my spirit, only with less time spent on the toilet. No, I meant, after that. And before it. I was just—lonely. Isn’t that silly?” says Tahani, and tries to smile. “Loads of friends, I could have called up a Hemsworth brother or Beyonce or one of the Spice Girls at any time, but still. I was _lonely_. It’s so _stupid_.”

Anger turns her face hard for a second, and Tahani wipes at her eyes as if she’s mad about even the possibility of tears.

Something about that breaks Eleanor’s shriveled up heart. It should make Eleanor think _oh, poor little rich girl_ , but—that attempt at a smile. The way she thinks this is a dumb thing to admit, how she’s even _mad_ about admitting it. It’s uncomfortably #relatable, and not in a manufactured Instagram kind of way. Eleanor feels angry and sad all at once.

“No, it’s not stupid. After I nearly got flattened by those shopping carts, and I started trying to be a not terrible, trashbag person, I think I was lonely too. My friends—” Eleanor stops, winces. “My _roommates_ ,” she amends, because they hadn’t exactly been _friends_. “They didn’t get it. Which was fine, I didn’t _need_ them. But uh, I guess it was. Lonely, I mean.”

Day in, day out, trying to be good had been a _grind._ Satisfying sometimes, even fun on a few occasions. But Eleanor had come home and she’d had no one to talk to about it. She’d open her mouth, as if expecting someone other than her shitty roommates to be there, and there had been no one. She’d almost gotten herself a _cat_ for god’s sake.

“What changed for you? I mean, what brought you here?”

“I saw Chidi. I saw his video, I mean. His lecture on what we owe to each other. And it just clicked.”

Tahani’s staring at her, her expression rapt and something else Eleanor can’t put a finger on. Desperate, maybe, or hungry. Longing.

“What clicked?”

“That I couldn’t do this alone. I figured—I needed a teacher. But I think…I think it’s just that it’s easier to be better together.”

Tahani smiles, for real now, not that sad almost-smile from earlier. “I think you’re right,” she says softly.

Not long after that, they turn off the TV and get ready for bed. When the lights are off, and they’re both wrapped up in the bed’s soft dark, Eleanor can’t help but ask.

“Are you still lonely?”

“No,” says Tahani. “Not at all.”

* * *

Sharing a bed feels different, after that. At least it does for Eleanor. This is the most she’s ever talked about feelings with someone else while in bed with them, and honestly, that’s a way bigger, scarier thing than getting down and dirty. 

_Get a grip, Shellstrop_ , she tells herself. This is probably just standard, platonic sleepover stuff to Tahani. All they’d been missing tonight was some hair braiding and truth or dare, or whatever the hell else girls did on all those sleepovers Eleanor had never been invited to. It doesn’t _mean_ anything, other than that they’re friends.

* * *

In the morning, just before they leave for the university for the day, Tahani hugs her, and kisses her cheek. Eleanor’s too caught by surprise to do more than gingerly hug her back.

“Last night was so much fun, Eleanor, and you’re such a lovely listener. I’m so glad I came to Sydney, and I’m so glad you’ve let me stay with you.”

“Uh. Yeah. Me too. I mean, you’re welcome. Or whatever. It’s no big deal,” she says. and flees the motel room for the parking lot.

Shit. Feelings _and_ lust? Eleanor’s fucked.

* * *

The next night in the honeymoon suite, Eleanor and Tahani do their nightly routines side by side at the bathroom’s double sink. Now, Eleanor thinks she’s okay at this self-care hygiene routine, alright? She brushes her teeth, she flosses, she washes her face. She moisturizes, copiously, because otherwise Arizona would turn her into a mummy, and Eleanor is not gonna turn into one of those old white ladies in Arizona who looks like a dried up, wrinkly apple. So Eleanor kicks it old school and uses cold cream as the coup de grace of her nightly routine.

But _Tahani’s_ nightly routine. Tahani’s night time hygiene and skincare routine is on a whole other level. It’s like an entire spa visit, every single night.

“Cold cream?” asks Tahani as she smears the fifth mysterious lotion of the night onto her perfect, lustrous skin. “That’s quite…old fashioned.”

“ _Hey_. This is a skincare secret passed down to my mom from her mom and her mom’s mom, and since my mom still tried, and frequently succeeded, at passing herself off as my older sister until she died, I think it’s valid.”

Tahani gives her a dubious side-eye in the mirror. “Hmm. Well, you really ought to use a serum as well,” she says, and slides one of her many bottles across the double sink. “Try this one.”

“Okay. Thanks, I guess.” She pumps some out and slathers it on her face. It’s faintly slimy, but probably very moisturizing. “What is this, anyway?”

“Snail mucus serum,” says Tahani absently as she dots some cream under her eyes.

“Oh, gross,” moans Eleanor, rubbing her fingers off on the towel before she spots Tahani’s lips twitching into a smile. “Don’t tell me you managed all this in a monastery, or did you find some snails to put on your face?”

Tahani laughs, and it’s not the polite, restrained laugh Eleanor usually hears from her: it’s an unguarded and loud burst of sound, and for once, she looks more goofy than elegant. It is, somehow, a turn on.

Oh, Eleanor’s in danger. Eleanor is in so much danger.

“No, the mountain air was quite invigorating, and I stayed very hydrated,” Tahani says once she stops laughing. Then her eyes get a little shifty, and she fusses with her array of bottles. “I might, however, have gone to the river for some clay to make clay masks with. They were quite good for my pores, you know, I nearly took a jar of the stuff with me.”

A swell of fondness crests and crashes in Eleanor, shocking in its strength. Eleanor feels about as tumbled around and confused as if she got knocked over by a wave. But it’s such a _Tahani_ thing to do, so sweetly, stupidly vain, because Eleanor’s pretty sure Tahani would look amazing even without a 12-step beauty routine. 

“Uh huh, sure, Himalayan river clay, it’s all the rage,” is all Eleanor says, and has to flee the bathroom to avoid her reflection’s eyes. She can’t look at her own face right now, because she knows she looks like she’s been hit with a 2x4 of stupid, helpless affection.

It’s ridiculous, it’s intolerable. Eleanor burrows herself into a resentful blanket burrito, the better to resist Tahani’s stupidly effective charms.

“Oh, are you cold, Eleanor?” asks Tahani as she slides into bed. “They do keep the air on abominably cold in here. I suspect that thermostat is just there for show and doesn’t even do anything. Shall I light the fireplace?”

Eleanor pokes her head out of the blanket burrito. “Do you know how?” she asks with equal parts suspicion and intrigue.

“Of course I do! I once spent a week at a positively rustic cabin with Prince Harry—well before Megan was in the picture of course—and he showed me how. Here, how about I light the fire, and you go fill the ice bucket so we can have some champagne in front of the toasty fire. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

It sounds romantic as fuck is what it sounds like. This godforsaken honeymoon suite is infecting them. But Eleanor _does_ want that champagne. She wriggles out of her blanket burrito and gets up to grab the ice bucket.

“Don’t burn down the room,” Eleanor orders Tahani. Then she pauses, considers. “Unless you see more spiders,” she adds, and then leaves in search of the ice machine.

The motel isn’t exactly huge, but its layout is sometimes unexpected. Eleanor blames the Australia of it all. She knows where to find the ice machine on the other side of the motel where her old room was, but she hasn’t gone looking for this wing’s ice machine yet. It takes way too long to find the damn thing where it’s tucked away in a weird corner, glowing malevolently in the dark and making humming and clanking noises. She quickly grabs some ice then heads back, without getting lost even, which feels like an accomplishment.

Eleanor’s hands are too full to open the honeymoon suite herself, so she bangs on the door with her foot.

“Tahani, it’s me, can you open the door?”

“Just a second!” Tahani calls through the door, and Eleanor narrows her eyes. She takes a couple suspicious sniffs, but doesn’t smell any smoke, so Tahani probably hasn’t set the dumb shag carpet on fire. Hopefully.

When Tahani opens the door a few seconds later, Eleanor nearly drops the ice bucket and towels. Tahani’s changed from her demure satin pajamas into a blue and red floral robe that’s revealing…a really excellent view of her boobs.

“Oh, perfect, ice!” says Tahani, and grabs the bucket from Eleanor’s unresisting arms.

She wedges the champagne bottle inside the bucket with a loud crunch of ice, and sets the bucket down beside the shag carpet in front of the fireplace, where she sits down and pats the carpet beside her. Part of Tahani’s knee-length robe falls away and reveals a long expanse of smooth brown thigh.

“Uh…”

“Come sit down, Eleanor!”

Eleanor takes a few awkward steps forward and drops gracelessly down onto the carpet, where the heat from the fireplace radiates towards her at a temperature that makes her feel like she’s being gently baked.

“Why the wardrobe change?” demands Eleanor.

Tahani sweeps her hair over one shoulder and reclines on some pillows she’s set on the floor.

“I just started feeling a bit warm in front of the fire, I thought I’d change into something a little more…comfortable.”

“Of course,” says Eleanor grimly, and tries to find somewhere in Tahani’s general vicinity to rest her eyes, but there’s no safe zone. Either she’s looking at all that bare leg, or the whole glorious cleavage situation, or Tahani’s stupid beautiful face, lit golden and glowing by the firelight. “How about that champagne, huh?”

“Nonsense, it’s not cold enough yet,” says Tahani, and then arches her neck so that her shiny black hair catches the firelight.

“Alright,” says Eleanor, annoyed now. “I know Google Earth is always taking pics or whatever but this is ridiculous.”

“Whatever do you mean, Eleanor.”

Eleanor gestures irritably at Tahani’s…everything. “This! I mean this! Like, I get it, you’re very hot and very beautiful and life is a photoshoot.” Eleanor holds out her hand. “I’ll take whatever Instagram photos you want or whatever, just hand over the champagne and stop lounging all over the place like you’re shooting a secret lingerie ad.”

Tahani stops lounging and glares at Eleanor.

“I’m not doing this for _Instagram_! I’m trying to _seduce_ you!”

“What?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tahani gestures around. “Flattering lighting, a revealing robe, champagne, my solid gold brassiere—”

“Your what?”

Tahani smiles slyly, somehow managing to look up at Eleanor through her eyelashes despite being taller than her. She tugs open the neckline of her robe a little and reveals a glimmering hint of gold.

“My solid gold brassiere. Do you want to see it?” She leans towards Eleanor and begins untying her robe.

“Wait, not that I don’t want to see that, but—maybe we shouldn’t—Chidi and Simone’s study—”

“What does the study have to do with anything?”

“I don’t want to fuck it up! I fuck everything up by—by doing some self-sabotaging thing, or being an asshole, and I don’t want to fuck this up by banging you and making everything weird!”

Tahani tilts her head and studies Eleanor. “Is your concern that this would be an empty one-night stand, or that it could be an actual relationship?”

“I don’t know, both? Either? I just—want to do the right thing for once, okay? I’m pretty sure I have literally never done the right thing in a relationship,” admits Eleanor.

“If you know that now, it means you can do better.”

“Yeah? How’d that turn out for you? You _knew_ your crazy need for attention fucked things up for you, and you still ended up with a _literal book_ about your need for attention and a cruise all about you. Just because I _want_ to have sex with you doesn’t mean I _should_.”

Tahani’s cheeks color but she lifts her chin and doesn’t back down. It’s super hot, because of course it is.

“I thought the whole point of what we’re trying to do here in Sydney is to be better people, to use our second chances well, _together_. We’ve all learned that it doesn’t work on our own. So why not try _this_ together? Try to be good, _together_. And have some excellent sex in the meantime?” Tahani shifts closer to Eleanor and tucks a piece of her hair back behind her ear, letting her fingers drift feather light over Eleanor’s cheek along the way. “I _like_ you, Eleanor. You—you make me feel less lonely. More seen.”

“Is this how you seduced all those hot Olympians?”

“They were all considerably less work,” says Tahani, frustrated and amused. “Listen, I’m amenable to this being a friends with benefits sort of situation, if that’s alright with you. Truly, it's the friends part that's important." For what's got to be the first time in Eleanor's life, that's cause for relief instead of dread. At least until Tahani adds, "We needn’t be soulmates or anything to make this work.”

At that, something inside Eleanor lurches, some mix of furious disappointment and desire, like when she’d been a kid and she’d _known_ , she’d 100% _known_ her parents wouldn’t remember her birthday or give her money for the school field trip, but she’d still _wanted_. It’s not about the friends with benefits part, that honestly sounds great, but it’s the word _soulmates_ that’s got some deep down part of her howling. She doesn’t know why.

Which seems as good a reason as any to say, “Yeah, fuck soulmates. Let’s do this,” before tackling Tahani for a kiss.

It’s not an exploratory sort of kiss. Eleanor lets out all her lust-related rage and frustration and makes a concerted effort to devour Tahani’s mouth, half challenging her to break this off, to slow things down, to make this like some genteel, soft thing between upper crust British boarding school girls.

She maybe tries out some mildly vicious dirty talk to that effect. Tahani just laughs.

“Oh Eleanor. Wherever do you get your ideas about British girls’ schools? You’re not half as mean as the meanest girl in my year.” She puts her hands on Eleanor’s waist, and the span of her hands covers really a lot of Eleanor’s skin. “Gosh, you’re so tiny,” marvels Tahani, and then she lays back on the dumb shag carpet and pulls Eleanor on top of her.

“I’ll show you tiny,” growls Eleanor nonsensically, and gets to attacking Tahani’s lips and throat and chest with her lips. She fumbles Tahani’s robe open and reveals what is, in fact, a solid gold bra. “Is this _armor_ , or a bra?” demands Eleanor, baffled.

“Does it matter?” asks Tahani, tugging Eleanor’s shirt off. Eleanor lifts her arms and lets her take it off. Eleanor’s not wearing a bra, gold or otherwise, and Tahani makes an appreciative sort of sound before she pulls her back down for more kisses.

“Don’t tell me your underwear is solid gold too,” says Eleanor between wet and deep kisses.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that would be terribly uncomfortable,” says Tahani, as if a _solid gold bra_ could possibly be comfortable either, but then Tahani directs Eleanor’s hand down to her underwear and Eleanor can feel that nope, it is definitely not solid gold, just gratifyingly damp fabric.

She gets a couple fingers inside Tahani, and gives her clit a few hard and fast strokes that make Tahani yelp and arch up under her. Eleanor decides that what she really needs to see is Tahani coming apart like this, all thoughts of propriety and primness tossed out the window, her mouth open, her head thrown back. She wants to see Tahani’s o-face in all its sexy, goofy glory. Eleanor fingers Tahani more deeply with a few harder thrusts and earns a satisfyingly long and loud moan.

“Yes, like that, please,” begs Tahani, so Eleanor adds another finger, pushing deeper into Tahani, and rubs circles around Tahani’s clit with her thumb.

Eleanor loves this part: she loves it when it’s herself she’s bringing off, and she loves it when it’s someone else. She loves feeling that soft, wet heat, the tightness of a cunt, the pulse and the flutter, and god, the _sounds_. She loves the dumb, gorgeous faces people make, the honesty of real pleasure, the absence of self-consciousness. Tahani’s face is starting to—God, there’s no other word for it—glow with sweat, and her mouth is red, her face gone slack and unguarded.

Tahani slams her hips up against Eleanor’s hand, and Eleanor goes faster. When Tahani starts making adorably squeaky sex noises, Eleanor knows she’s close, so she does the patented Eleanor Shellstrop swirl, and Tahani comes with a damn near operatic shout. Because Eleanor is maybe still feeling some lust-rage, she doesn’t let up.

“Eleanor—!”

“C’mon, one more, babe, we’re women, no refractory period is like the one consolation for the patriarchy.”

Eleanor’s a little more gentle on Tahani’s probably oversensitive clit now, but she keeps going as Tahani’s moans reach a higher and higher pitch, until she shakes through another orgasm. Eleanor would have thought Tahani would be an afterglow type of girl, but she’s got a distinctly wild look in her eyes, and what with the hair and the gold bra, there’s kind of a Xena situation happening, and Eleanor is _extremely_ into it. Especially since Tahani sort of manhandles Eleanor onto her back, gets Eleanor’s knees over her shoulders and then damn near rips Eleanor’s shorts and underwear off, and just—holy shit, goes to town.

There’s nothing dainty about the way Tahani’s eating her out, or her devoted attention to Eleanor’s throbbing clit. Eleanor buries a hand in Tahani’s thick hair and urges her on.

“Faster, holy shit, you’re really good at this,” says Eleanor before she’s reduced to encouraging and desperate noises.

She’s not going fast, or doing the dumb alphabet trick that’s always felt indecisive and try-hard to Eleanor. No, Tahani’s a slow and steady and thorough provider of cunnilingus. Her diligence is drawing out long, deep moans from Eleanor, sounds she can scarcely believe are coming out of her, and that have Tahani making thoughtful, pleased little hums into Eleanor’s cunt. Something about that makes tears prick at Eleanor’s eyes. She doesn’t know why. She tells herself she doesn’t care either, as her orgasm builds with delicious relentlessness, goaded on by the patient and perfect pressure of Tahani’s tongue and mouth.

When Tahani slips one finger inside Eleanor, she clenches and comes so suddenly that she maybe, sort of, inadvertently lets out one of those especially showy moans that she used to think were just faking-it porn things, but wow, no.

Tahani lifts her head, her mouth obscenely wet, and says, “That’s _adorable_.”

Before Eleanor knows it, Tahani’s got two fingers back in her cunt, then three, and her thumb is doing some very unbearable/amazing things to Eleanor’s clit. And holy shit, what did Tahani _learn_ from all those hot Olympic athletes. Maybe there was a secret sex Olympics, thinks Eleanor giddily. Maybe Tahani got the fucking gold medal. Eleanor buries her fingers in the shag rug and hangs on for dear life. One more minute and Eleanor’s gonna beg, she doesn’t even know for what, more or faster or harder or all three.

“Is this how you like it?” asks Tahani. She’s braced over Eleanor on one arm, the other beautifully busy between Eleanor’s legs, working relentlessly at Eleanor’s clit. It’s a great view, Tahani’s hair falling over her like a shining curtain, and the whole Xena bra situation is on very appealing display. “A little bit rough?”

“Yeah,” gasps Eleanor, way past being able to make any witty comebacks.

“I thought so,” says Tahani, then she bends down to kiss Eleanor just as her rhythm speeds up enough to pull another orgasm from Eleanor. Only she doesn’t stop after that.

“Okay, wow, that’s—oh my god, Tahani—is this—are you trying to _beat me_ in the orgasm count—”

Tahani crooks her fingers just right and hits Eleanor’s g-spot, and Eleanor squirms and thrusts against Tahani and makes some very embarrassing, very high-pitched noises.

“Eleanor, anything worth doing is worth being _competitive_ about. Now be good for me, dear, and come one more time,” she says, and then she presses hard, and Eleanor feels the perfect, liquid rush of another orgasm crash through her, obliterating everything but pleasure.

Once she gets her wits back, Eleanor stretches all the way down to her toes and laughs. Her cunt is still throbbing happily, and she’s warm all over, full of the the kind of loose and giddy high that only comes from being well-fucked. A little sex competition is fine with Eleanor; she’s obviously winning no matter what. There’s probably some kind of philosophical principle that explains the ethical superiority of win-win scenarios, or, whatever, the wonders of mutually mind-blowing orgasms. Or if there isn’t, there really should be.

“You’re not wrong. Feel free to be as competitive as you want about orgasms,” Eleanor tells Tahani, and pats vaguely at the nearest part of Tahani she can reach, which happens to be her waist.

“Get the champagne, darling,” says Tahani, smiling and flopping back breathlessly. “I think we’ve earned it.”

* * *

They get another few days in the honeymoon suite, which they spend making excellent, sexy use of the jacuzzi tub and the candles, and of the enormous bed. Despite Eleanor’s best efforts, they’re at a delightful draw on their orgasm count.

Then Timmy calls their room and asks them to come to the front desk.

“Your old room is fully spider free now!” he says with a huge, customer service grin on his face.

He holds out the key cards to Eleanor’s old room and he might as well be holding spiders as far as Eleanor’s concerned. She doesn’t want the old key cards back. These keys aren’t in a heart shaped cardboard sleeve, just the same dingy card stock as when he’d first handed them to her weeks ago, and Eleanor’s pretty sure she’s not going to need both cards anymore.

_Well, this is it_ , thinks Eleanor. She and Tahani have had a fun time, but it’s going to end just like it always does. Tahani’s going to smile and leave, and from now on, Eleanor’s only going to see her at the university, with Chidi and Jason and Simone, just one of the group. It feels a little like Eleanor’s just eaten the best, most delicious dessert of her life, and it’s about to come back up in a torrent of disgusting bile.

“Right,” says Eleanor, and summons up a smile that she suspects comes out way too brittle and jagged.

She reaches out to take the key cards, but before Timmy can give them to her, Tahani takes her hand.

“You know what, Timmy? I’ve grown quite fond of the honeymoon suite,” says Tahani, her voice steady but color high on her cheeks, and she squeezes Eleanor’s hand before letting it go.

Tahani reaches into her purse and pulls out a slim wallet and a sleek black card that she slides across the front desk to Timmy. She makes the gesture look casual, like she does it all the time, which of course she must. But the tilt of her chin is both stubborn and uncertain, and Eleanor’s not entirely sure just what’s happening here.

“We’ll be staying in the honeymoon suite. Put half of the bill on my card, please,” Tahani says, and then her gaze settles anxiously on Eleanor, her eyelashes fluttering faintly with her nervously darting gaze. “If that’s alright with you, of course,” she says to Eleanor, her voice wavering with the hint of a question.

“You want to stay _here_?” asks Eleanor incredulously. “With _me_? Have all the penthouses in Sydney tragically burned down?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I want to stay with you,” says Tahani, and then her voice dips down to a more low and intimate register. “I’ve enjoyed our time together very much. And the bed is quite comfortable, don’t you think?”

Eleanor’s face goes from zero to on fire in about two seconds flat. “Uh huh! That’s—yes. I also enjoy our time together. And the bed. And bed—things. Very much,” she babbles, and oh god, of all the times to channel Chidi.

“Good. That’s grand.” Tahani smiles at her, shy and bright. “I think you were right. About how it’s easier to be better together, than apart. All of us, I mean. But you and me, especially.”

“Yeah,” Eleanor says softly, and smiles up at Tahani. “And we’re still tied. Can’t leave things in a tie, that’s just not fair.”

"Oh no, a tie just won't do," says Tahani, then offers Eleanor her arm. "Shall we?"

"We shall," says Eleanor, in her best British accent, and they go back to the honeymoon suite, arm in arm.


End file.
